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The real political power in the European Union today. Power politics in modern Europe

Updated on February 14, 2016


A journey to a remote location in the European Union.

Strange people live in some parts of the European Union.

Ancient wisdom in the European Union.

Political Power in the European Union Today.

European Union commissioners at their annual dinner and dance.

Inside information on the European financial crisis.

The real leaders of Europe.
The real leaders of Europe.
European Headquarters in Brussels.
European Headquarters in Brussels.

A journey to a remote location in the European Union.

It is a true fact in the history of the world and in the world of modern politics that the people whom we assume to be in charge are often not the individuals that really "pull the strings". Many a king in olden days made decisions based on the utterances of an oracle, or the examination of the entrails of a chicken, rather on a sober examination of the conditions or needs of the society that they governed. Marie De Medici had her Nostradamus. Adolf Hitler had his horoscope casters, and even Ronald Reagan was rumoured to rely on the pronouncements of his wife's astrologers before making some decisions.

The situation is not very different in our modern world, particularly in The European Union, but before I reveal to you who the real "movers and shakers" are behind the "European Project" I beg that you indulge me by reading this account of a singular encounter that I had in my earlier days. It will help you to make sense of what I reveal to you next.

Once upon a time, when I was but a lad; many years before I became a Secret Historian, I went on a holiday to the south west of Ireland. It really was more of a pilgrimage than a holiday. I was but a lad of nineteen, and at about the age when a lot of young people are full of the notion that they would like to find themselves, and all that semi hippy rubbish that in later more sensible years they look back at with a more than slight cringe. Anyway I got the idea that I would like to get back to my roots in the soil, and spend some time in one of the more remote parts of the country communing with nature in an effort to get in touch with my "inner being".

I got on a train to Cork,( a city in the south of the country) and from there I took a bus that wound into the countryside, and up into the rugged mountains that are a feature of the south west corner of the emerald isle. After about three hours travelling the bus came to a village near the top of a particularly gloomy looking mountain. The bus driver announced that he had come to the end of his journey. I was left with the choice of either journeying back to the city or staying the week in the village, as the bus did not return until the following week. Close to where the bus had stopped there was a building with a sign over the door that said "The Kilmagrahy Inn", with a smaller sign to the side of it that said "rooms available" The result being that I decided to stay for the week in the village near the top of the mountain, for I reasoned that if I wanted to commune with nature I could scarcely find a more convenient location to do it in.

Strange people live in some parts of the European Union.

So after waving goodbye to the bus driver I brought my suitcase over to the inn and after the usual salutations with the woman who seemed to run the place I deposited it in the clean, but small bedroom and repaired to the bar downstairs for some much needed food and liquid refreshment. The bar was a small room near the back of the inn, with a low ceiling and a few tables at one side where I assumed the food would be served. Sitting on two stools at the counter were two young men, and in a large armchair near a blazing turf fire was one of the strangest looking old women that it has ever been my lot to look upon. She had a long brown dress that reached to her ankles, and a multi coloured shawl round her shoulders. A bonnet that would not have looked out of place in a mid-nineteenth century Dickens story adorned her head. She had a large bowl of what I took to be soup on a small table beside her chair, and every now and then a bony hand, in which was a very large spoon, would reach out from beneath the shawl and convey a portion of the soup to her toothless mouth and she would swallow it with a rather disconcerting hissing noise. This was the scene that I surveyed as I sat silently at one of the tables, waiting for the food to be conveyed by the bustling proprietress, who had taken my order when she booked me in. The food, which consisted of some chicken that had probably died full in years and wisdom, for it was rather tough, with some roast potatoes and some green beans, all smothered with gravy, I washed down with a pint of Guinness, which was the only beer available. When I asked for a Fosters I was told , "we don’t have any of that foreign Lagger stuff here". Anyway the Guinness hit the spot quite nicely.

One of the young men, as is the way in friendly country places, came and sat at my table, to ask who I was, where I was from, and why I wanted to stay in their neck of the woods anyway. He even brought over, for me, another pint and a very large looking large whisky. So what with the effects of the food and the alcohol it wasn’t long until I got into a very convivial conversation with both the young locals. When I told them that the purpose of my visit was to commune with nature, and to find myself, my companions both shouted out almost in unison, "you have to meet the cows".

"What cows" I asked, somewhat taken aback by the sudden burst of celtic enthusiasm.

"Why the talking cows, of course," the first of my new friends said.

"The wise cows of Kilmagrahy are the most famous beasts in the world. Sure people come from as far away as Cork city to get advice from those cows".

"Can they really talk" was my next question.

The two men looked at me as if I were an idiot.

"What point would there be in people coming all the way here to ask their advice if they couldn’t answer?"

"Are ye saying my lovely cows can’t talk?"

said a crackling voice from under the bonnet by the fire.

"Ye can come out to my field in the morning and ye can hear them for ye're unbelieving heathen self"

Ancient wisdom in the European Union.

I considered at that stage that it was best to not doubt either the loquacity or the wisdom of the cows, so after a further few pints of Guinness it was arranged that the two young men would call on me in the morning to convey me for an audience with the bovine oracles. So in the morning after a breakfast of bacon, and eggs that were probably the last production of my previous night's dinner I set out in the company of the two young men to meet the cows. After about a half hours journey on a track that wound round the beetling brow of the mountain we came to a long low cabin with a rather stony field at it's back. Waiting for us at the gate was the old woman from the inn. “Ye have come then" was all she said to me.

"Bridy and Betty are expecting him" she said to my two companions. “They are in the field".

In the field at the back of the cabin I could see two cows lying down and chewing as cows are wont to do. "He must go in alone" the old woman said. My two companions ushered me in the direction of the two cows. I entered the field. I approached the supine beasts They turned upon me eyes that had all the disdain of a queen looking at a dog turd on her shoe. Suddenly one of the cows addressed me.

"Now do you believe we can talk" she said. I was too speechless to reply properly, and just stuttered out some garbled form of apology.

"Not alone can we talk" she continued, "but we can, and we will foretell your future".

“You are going to grow up and you are going to travel across the sea to England, to the city of London. There you are going to live, and you are going to become very wealthy by winning a prize in the national lottery".

"She's right. She always is", the other cow said. “Now leave us". And they waved their front hooves in a dismissive manner, and proceeded to chew again. Well all I can say is that I staggered down that Mountain a wiser man than I staggered up. When the bus returned the following week I returned to civilisation, and gave up all thought of finding myself, or communing with nature ever again.

In the fullness of time at least some of the prediction came true. I did travel across the sea, and I do now live in London, where I serve as The President of The Ancient Society of Secret Historians, although I have as yet not won The Lottery.

Political Power in the European Union Today.

There is however some more to this story, as you are no doubt anxious to find out. The second part is the account of the subsequent history of The Talking Cows of Kilmagrahy, and the important part they, or their descendants, play in all our lives today.

I have since discovered that the reason for their partially inaccurate assessment of my life prospects was, and this is the sad bit, that they were both in the first stages of Bovine Senility. The incorrect prophecy about the lottery was the first sign of the decline in their hitherto infallible record in foretelling the future. Afterwards their descent into complete and blinding dementia meant that they had to be retired. The final straw came when they said that Elvis Presley would be singing "Auld Lang Syne" at the new year’s celebrations for nineteen eighty two. Everyone knows that is nonsense. He was working in a petrol station in Manchester for four years then, and his voice was completely shot anyway. They lingered for a few years more in retirement and they both died in nineteen eighty five.

This is where the story takes on an international dimension. They did have successors. The mantle of "Talking Cow" was taken on by their granddaughters. They had daughters, but the special powers sometimes skip a generation. Since Ireland was a member of the European Community, and it was felt in certain circles that the powers of these special beasts were being wasted by keeping them sequestered on a mountain in the fastness’s of West Cork, so they were both brought to Brussels where they were appointed as special advisors to the European Commission, with particular responsibility for E.U enlargement policy.

There they remain to this day. They have a large open plan office on the roof of the E.U headquarters and a special roof garden has been created for their comfort, with a meadow grown from grass seed specially imported from their ancestral field in Ireland. The picture I have published of The European Headquarters building just shows the summerhouse by the corner of the roof. The portrait of The Cows hangs in the office of The President of The European Commission. If you try to contact them you will only get through to their secretaries, as they only take calls from people of Prime Ministerial or Head of State Level. There is special voice recognition software on their telephones to make certain that no imposters get put through. This was done because some years ago a French radio presenter managed to get through to one of the cows by posing as President Chirac of France. The somewhat indiscreet comments of the cow on both Prime Minister Blair of Britain, and President George Bush of the United States caused severe embarrassment when broadcast. But I don’t need to tell you about that. I'm sure you can all remember the fuss there was when it happened.

That is the latest information that I have on "The Talking Cows of Brussels". They live very quietly now, and are seldom seen in public, although their influence is very much felt behind the scenes at the European Commission. They can only really be seen when they occasionally occupy the Royal Box at the Opera, which they do by gracious permission of His Majesty King Albert of the Belgians. They only attend Gala openings, and only when no member of the Royal Family is to be Present.

As you can see it is impossible for any member of the general public to get a consultation from such august personages as the cows have become now. I am fortunate that as President of The Ancient Society of Secret Historians all doors are opened to me. And you are very fortunate that I choose to tell you about these things in this article. Otherwise how could you ever know what is really going on? It is rumoured that President Obama has been in contact with them recently for advice on how to deal with the approach to adopt to achieve Middle East peace, but as of going to print, I have no absolutely definite confirmation. No doubt the effects of his actions will indicate their influence to the experienced observer.

Talking Cow "Papped" at "Bunga Bunga" party.


European Union commissioners at their annual dinner and dance.

Inside information on the European financial crisis.

There have been developments of a rather alarming nature within the European Union in the last few years. This concerns mainly the problems in the Euro Zone and the near collapse of the economies of several countries. Principal amongst them has been Greece, with Ireland, Spain and Italy also experiencing severe problems.

Unfortunately the cows appeared to have had their “eyes off the ball” at a time when their perspicacity would have been most useful. My informants tell me that in September 2010 the bovine seers were invited to visit Italy by the then Italian Prime Minister Silvio Berlusconi. There they got drawn into the rather raffish set that surrounded that notorious politician. They even attended several of his “Bunga Bunga” parties. How they conducted themselves there is not recorded, but rumour has it that their behaviour was not with the decorum expected of high EU officials.

The result was, that when critical decisions were been taken, the wisest brains in Brussels were preoccupied with matters carnal in an Italian cesspit. The resolving of the problems was left to the politicians and the commissioners. The result is as we see it now, a complete mess. The Talking Cows are now back at their desks on the roof of the European Parliament Building in the Belgian capital and are working hard to sort out the mess created during their regrettable absence. I don’t know whether they will succeed in their herculean task. What is certain is that they cannot make things any worse than their human counterparts already have.

The truth is in here


More secrets revealed

If you enjoyed this story want to find out more about what “the great and the good” get up to,

read my latest e-book The Zombie,The Cat and Barack Obama

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United States.


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